


addiction

by mickeysmiddlefinger



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, dream pack shenanigans featuring drugs and lots of kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 04:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11246568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeysmiddlefinger/pseuds/mickeysmiddlefinger
Summary: addicts are always hungry for one thing - getting their next fix. kavinsky knows this feeling all too well.





	addiction

**Author's Note:**

> this is not meant to make light of, or romanticize, drug addiction in any way. everything in here is based on my own experiences as well as people around me. substance abuse manifests differently in every person and in every situation, this is just my take on it.

This is how it starts; a line of white powder and a desire to burn. 

The lights are bleeding red, bodies are packed together like canned herring, sweaty hands on sweaty bodies. Kavinsky’s eyes glitter like festival lights when he puts his nose against a rolled-up George Washington and snorts the cocaine off the metal tray. He tilts his head back and listens to the beat bouncing between the walls. 

It is one of those nights where he doesn’t feel quite real. The world is within arm’s reach, but not close enough to touch it. He feels a hand on the small of his back and hears Prokopenko’s voice in his ear. 

“Are you okay?” 

Kavinsky puts the tray on a table and swings his arms around Prokopenko’s neck, the beer in Proko’s hand spilling all over his shirt. His entire body is dancing with something otherworldly. Something divine. 

Kavinsky grabs the hair on the back of Prokopenko’s head and pushes him up against the wall, his lips pressing into Prokopenko’s pale skin. Somewhere in the room, Swan howls encouragingly. Kavinsky grabs his wrists and pins them to the wall behind him. 

“You’re hurting me” Prokopenko murmurs. 

“Good.” 

He grinds on Prokopenko, their hipbones meeting like two sharp knives. He wants it to hurt. Suddenly, Jiang grabs Kavinsky and pulls him back, sticking his tongue in Kavinsky’s mouth. 

Prokopenko watches them quietly, a drunken smile playing on his lips before Kavinsky pulls away and presses his lips hard against Prokopenko’s. He can taste the hard liquor lingering on Proko’s tongue. 

_It was never gonna be you and me._

Kavinsky bites into Prokopenko’s lower lip until he tastes blood. 

_Is that what you thought?_

Prokopenko grabs the back of Kavinsky’s shirt and clenches his fist around the fabric. He tries to push him away, but Kavinsky just pins him harder to the wall and kisses him hard on the mouth for a few seconds before Prokopenko manages to break free. 

“Fuck, man” Prokopenko says and puts a finger on his lip. “What was that for?” 

Kavinsky howls, his eyes manic and glowing, and reaches for the one remaining line of cocaine on the metal tray. He hands it to Prokopenko. 

“Oh, this will make me feel better” Prokopenko says with a smile. 

“No, baby. That will make you feel like a fucking god.” 

He feels like he is in the belly of a ship when he starts to come down from it. The room smells of sex and luke warm beer, both salty and bitter at the same time. Skov and Swan are tangled up on a mattress on the floor, Jiang is sleeping on the couch and Prokopenko has passed out on Kavinsky’s bed. 

He hasn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. His brain is too loud and the room is too quiet. He listens to Prokopenko’s breaths for a few minutes before he begins to look for something that can put him to sleep. He feels for pills in Prokopenko’s jacket, in Jiang’s bag, he even raids the bathroom cabinet but finds nothing but an empty pill bottle labelled KETAMINE. 

When he is done pacing back and forth, he grabs his phone and calls Ronan. It goes straight to voicemail. 

**me [6:12 am]**  
what does gansey’s dick look like? 

**me [6:13 am]**  
fuck you lynch 

There is something vicious inside him, scratching at his insides so violently that he can’t stand still. 

The remnants of yesterday’s cocaine are scattered across the small metal tray, God in the form of little white crystals. He takes whatever is left of the drug on his finger and rubs it on his gums. 

It’s not enough. 

Kavinsky leans back against the wall and sits down, legs sprawled out in front of him while a thousand ants crawl underneath his skin. 

“K?” 

He looks up at Prokopenko, his hair pushed back by a baseball cap turned backwards. 

“Tell me you have something” Kavinsky says and throws the empty tray across the room before he puts his hands at the back of his head. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Proko, I’m going to explain this one fucking time, then I’m going to break your fucking bones” Kavinsky says and closes his eyes. “Do you have any drugs?” 

“Just a fast car.” 

A smile flashes across Kavinsky's face. He stands up and cups his hands around Prokopenko’s face. “I fucking love you, dream boy.” 

“Honestly, K,” Prokopenko says, “why can’t you just have a glass of warm milk or something, like a normal person?” 

“There has to be speed, sweetheart” Kavinsky says and leans his forehead against Proko’s. “Powder, wheels, pills, I don’t care what form it comes in. It’s the only thing that makes it bearable.” 

“Makes what bearable?” 

Kavinsky’s smile widens. “Life, baby. Life.” 

Kavinsky puts on his white-rimmed sunglasses and suddenly he is not the teenage boy on the floor anymore, but something Prokopenko can’t take his eyes off. He grabs the back of Prokopenko’s head and kisses him, his tongue making its way down Proko’s mouth.

The kiss grows hungrier when Prokopenko puts his hands around Kavinsky’s skinny waist and pulls him closer. Kavinsky bites Prokopenko’s sore lip softly, a smile luring on his lips when he pulls back. A reminder of Proko’s blood on Kavinsky’s teeth. 

It ends like it always does; with a boy who stained every part of him and left. It ends with a phantom of the boy he’ll never get back. It ends by trading one addiction for another.

And the desire to burn never goes out.


End file.
